


Relapse

by Bookkbaby



Series: Until Only A Scar Remains [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Night Terrors, Other: See Story Notes, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-9.03, Rape Recovery, Sex Pollen, Sick Castiel, Supportive Dean Winchester, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 13:12:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14020995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookkbaby/pseuds/Bookkbaby
Summary: Dean knew they should have given up the hunt as soon as they realized it was a succubus.





	Relapse

**Author's Note:**

> First off, thank you to everyone who has commented. I've probably read every comment on this series at least five times and it helps to know that there are other people reading this, that other people are being helped by this little series of mine.
> 
> It's a difficult thing to write, but it's helping.
> 
> I have not abandoned this series. I'm hopeful to update it a little more frequently this year (and in fact have the next fic in the series started)
> 
> Thank you to everyone following me on this journey.
> 
> (Also, to anyone concerned about the 'sex pollen' tag... magical healing cock isn't a thing in real life or in this story.)

Dean had known they should've given this one up as a bad job.

The second they realized they weren't dealing with a ghost, they should have turned around and went back home. They should have called in another hunter to take care of it.

Succubi were bad news, _especially_  considering... well. Everything.

And naturally, this being their lives, the Winchester bad luck had struck again.

"How you holding up, Cas?" Dean asks, glancing in the rearview mirror. Cas's expression is strained, his cheeks flushed, jaw set.

"I'm fine," Cas replies tightly. He winces as the car goes over a pothole, letting out a harsh breath through gritted teeth. Dean swears mentally and focuses back on the road. They're not far from the motel.

"Sam?" Dean says. Sam's got John's journal open on his lap; out of the corner of his eye, Dean can see him flip through several pages. Sam runs his hand through his hair again.

"Ok, so succubus venom isn't fatal," Sam says. "Symptoms include, uh... priaprism, fever, hallucinations, possible paralysis-"

"Pria-what now?" Dean asks, turning left down the street their motel is on.

"I could have told you that," Cas bites out. He takes a deep breath. "I'll be fine."

"It means he'll, ah..." Sam says, gesturing in the direction of his own crotch. Dean wants to swear again.

Of course Cas had been the one to get hit with magical boner-inducing venom. Of fucking course.

"Treatment?" Dean asks, pulling into the parking lot. Sam shakes his head.

"Affected hunters usually hire a hooker-"

_"No."_

Dean hits the brakes. Sam looks confused, then horrified.

"I wasn't suggesting it!" he says hurriedly. Cas is still tense in the backseat, wearing the same deer in the headlights expression he'd had on in the brothel what feels like a million years ago. It had been funny, then; now it just turns Dean's stomach.

Dean slowly eases on the gas and pulls into the closest available parking space. He lets out a long breath.

"Nobody is hiring any hookers," Dean says firmly. In the mirror, he can see Cas's shoulders drop in relief. "We'll keep the room an extra day and then head home."

"I'll tell the front desk," Sam volunteers, still looking shamefaced. He gets out of the car and heads for the lobby, leaving Dean to help Cas to the room. Dean watches Sam go for a moment, then turns his full attention to Cas.

The former angel seems so small in the hoodie he'd borrowed from Sam to cover up the bloodstains on his T-shirt. His head is bowed and Dean can see the slightest tremor of his shoulders.

"Come on, buddy, let's get you inside," Dean says gently. Cas nods, still not meeting Dean's eyes, and exits the car. Dean follows suit, locking the Impala almost as an afterthought as he hurries to catch up with Cas.

Cas is stalking towards the motel room, one hand fisted in the material of the hoodie and holding it down over the front of his pants. He waits when he reaches the door, allowing just enough time for Dean to unlock it before he's beelining for his duffle bag and a clean set of clothes.

Dean glances around the room as the door shuts behind them, as if maybe the words to say are written somewhere on the peeling wallpaper. They're not, of course, and Dean scratches his head as Cas heads for the bathroom.

To wash the succubus's blood off, sure, but Dean knows that's not all it is. He sees the way Cas's shoulders hunch, the way Cas won't meet his eyes, and he knows that some of Cas's worst memories are taking center stage in the former angel's mind.

"It'll be ok," Dean blurts out. Cas pauses at the door to the bathroom and glances back, briefly meeting Dean's gaze before immediately glancing away.

"I..." And Dean can hear how much Cas doubts and it hurts. "Of course."

Then Cas is gone. The bathroom door shuts and Dean can hear the lock click. The doorknob rattles once, twice, then settles, Cas apparently satisfied.

Dean rubs a hand over his face.

Well. He's certainly not sleeping tonight. The worry alone would keep him awake, and if Cas needs him... if there's _anything_  he can do to make this ordeal easier on Cas, Dean's willing to do it. Even if all he can do is hold Cas's fucking hand and listen to him after a nightmare (and Dean's certain there _will_  be nightmares tonight), he's bound to try.

There's a knock on the door. Dean turns and opens the door to find Sam.

"Got the room for one more day," Sam says. He makes to move passed Dean into the room, but Dean shakes his head and ushers him outside. Sam's eyes flick towards the bathroom, where the sound of running water can be heard, and then steps back. Dean follows and shuts the motel room door, leaving them in the parking lot.

"How's he doing?" Sam asks, nodding towards the room. Dean shakes his head.

"Dealing," he says. He takes a breath and lets it out slowly. "Listen, Sam... you should get another room."

Sam just stares at him for a moment, taken aback.

"What?" he says. Dean crosses his arms.

"Get a room for yourself tonight. One of us needs to be awake enough tomorrow to drive the Impala," Dean says, his expression daring Sam to argue. Sam only looks more confused.

"And by 'one of us' you mean me, because...?" Sam asks.

"I'm going to help Cas through this," Dean says, glancing back as though he can see the bathroom door through the closed window curtain. He completely misses the shock that crosses Sam's face.

"Dean, I-" Sam starts. He makes an aborted gesture towards the room and then runs a hand through his hair. "Have you talked to Cas about this?"

"Not yet, dude beelined for the shower as soon as we got in," Dean says. Sam just goggles.

"And... you just figure he'll say 'yes'?" Sam asks, voice strained. Dean looks at him incredulously.

"Why the hell wouldn't he?" Dean asks. Christ, Sam acted like Dean had never played nursemaid before. Sam's mouth drops open and he splutters.

"Dean- Look, Dean, I-" Sam runs both hands through his hair this time and takes an audible breath in. "So I'm happy you're finally going to tell Cas how you feel about him, and I totally support you and all, but is now _really_  the-" Sam cuts himself off at the look on Dean's face. "What?"

"'How I'- _what_ ," Dean splutters. Sam looks aghast.

"Are you going to pretend it's like some kind of friends with benefits thing?" Sam asks. Dean's mouth works but for a minute, no sound comes out.

"'Friends with-' **_what_**." His mind is reeling like he'd been concussed. His brain is tripping over itself trying to figure out where the _fuck_  this came from and how he'd lost track of the conversation so badly.

Then it parses.

And he's  _pissed_.

"You thought I was going to _sleep with him_?" Dean hisses. Sam holds his hands up placatingly.

"Look, just because you're both men-" Sam starts, but Dean doesn't have nearly the patience for this right now.

"He's _drugged_ ," Dean snaps, furious. "Jesus _Christ_ , Sam, Cas can't even-" Dean's voice cuts out on him, but his message gets across. Sam thinks for a moment and then pales, mouth dropping open in a horrified 'o'.

"I... I didn't think of-" Sam says. He shakes his head. "I mean, I know you wouldn't-"

"Take advantage?" Dean finishes for him, spitting the words out. Sam nods mutely, looking so miserable Dean feels somewhat mollified. He sighs and looks away from his younger brother.

Any surprise or mortification he might've felt at Sam knowing how he felt about Cas had been completely eclipsed by his anger over what Sam had accidentally implied. He was sure those feelings would surface later, when he'd had more time to think, but for now he just felt tired.

"As for the- the other thing," Dean says. He takes a deep breath. "The feelings thing. You're not... wrong. But we're _not_  talking about this now."

It feels good to actually say it. Imply it. Whatever.

Dean breathes out and looks back to find Sam nodding quickly, relieved.

"Sure," Sam says. "If you need anything, text me. Food, drinks, ice..."

"Will do," Dean replies. He digs in his pocket and comes out with the keys to the Impala. "You might need these if you're going to be playing errand boy."

He chucks the keys at Sam's head. Sam catches them easily and smiles, a bit hesitant.

"Jerk," he says.

"Bitch."

* * *

 

It's maybe ten minutes after Dean gets back into the motel room that he hears the shower finally shut off. Dean busies himself with... _something_ , suddenly realizing that he has no idea what to say. Or, for that matter, what to do.

The most he can come up with is 'distract Cas', but Dean can't even get his own mind off of what Cas had gone through. And if it's this bad for _him_...

The bathroom door opens slowly. Cas walks out wearing an old T-shirt that's a size too large on him and sleep pants with cuffs that drag on the floor. He's still towel-drying his hair and his skin is flushed pink, though no steam follows him from the bathroom. He glances around the room.

"Where's Sam?" Cas asks. Dean rubs a hand over the back of his neck. He needs to phrase this better than he did with Sam; he doesn't want Cas misinterpreting his meaning the same way Sam did.

Christ, please don't let Cas misunderstand.

"He got his own room for tonight," Dean says. "Figured you and I would be up all night-"

Fuck. _Fuck._

"I mean, you with the-" Dean gestures wildly. "And I thought you might need a hand-"

**_Fuck._ **

"Someone to hold your hair back while you vomit in the toilet," Dean blurts out.

_Motherfuck_ -

Cas stares at him, bemused. His head tilts slightly and he puts a hand to his still-damp hair.

"My hair isn't long enough for that to be necessary," Cas says, though he doesn't sound dismissive. Just confused. Like he hadn't heard any of the billion ways Dean had just shoved his foot so far into his mouth he could taste his own kneecap.

Dean would laugh, if the reminder of how _innocent_  Cas was when it came to things of a carnal nature didn't hurt so damn bad.

"I'll leave if you want me to," Dean says, not looking at Cas. "Just... you shouldn't have to go through this alone."

Like he'd done once. Like he'd had to do when the wound was still fresh and he was still reeling from the shock. When he couldn't even put a name to what he'd been through.

Dean isn't sure he'll ever forgive himself for that. He's done a lot of terrible things in his life, but leaving Cas alone to deal with the aftermath was one of the things he regretted most.

Cas is silent for a moment. Dean finally looks up, unable to contain his nerves.

Cas isn't looking at him, but instead looking somewhere off to the side behind Dean.

"Thank you," Cas says quietly, but with feeling. Dean feels something tight in his chest relax. If Cas had wanted him to, he would have left, but he knows he would've been up all night worrying.

At least now he can worry closer.

"Good," Dean says. He coughs, tries to play it off. "I mean... it's not a big deal."

"It is to me," Cas says, looking up at him. Dean feels caught by his gaze and he swallows. He nods, knowing his voice is trapped for the moment behind the lump in his throat. That Cas trusts him this much... yeah. It means a lot.

Cas shifts and lets out a harsh breath through his teeth, one hand dropping to press low on his abdomen. Dean starts forward, brow furrowed in concern as his gaze drops. He didn't think Cas had been injured besides the venom, but-

Oh.

"Cold shower didn't help?" Dean asks softly, lowering his hand. Cas shakes his head.

"Not for long," he says. Dean can see a faint sheen of sweat already starting to form on Cas's forehead. Dean steps back and jerks his head towards Cas's bed.

"Go lie down. I'll get some ice," Dean says. Cas nods, eyes once more downcast, and Dean turns away.

The ice is mostly an excuse to keep himself busy, but maybe making a cold compress will help with the fever. He finds the ice bucket, still half full from that morning, though some of the ice had melted. It would do until he could get Sam to bring him a few bags of ice.

He shoots his brother a quick text at the thought, adding Gatorade and saltines to the list. Sam replies almost immediately and asks Dean to let him know if he or Cas need anything else.

Dean smiles a bit wryly and shoves his phone back in his pocket. Ain't much anyone can do for either of them, really. He grabs the few clean rags the motel provided them with and tosses them in the ice bucket to start soaking.

He takes a deep breath.

Thus fortified, he picks up the bucket and goes back by the beds. Two queens, plus a pullout, though the last wouldn't be in use tonight. Cas is curled up on his side in the bed he'd slept in last night, a blanket over him from chest down even though he's already started to sweat through his shirt. His eyes are closed, face drawn and breathing harsh. Dean sets the ice bucket down on the bedside table and sits on the edge of the other bed, not wanting to crowd Cas.

The former angel opens his eyes and looks at Dean. The pupils are dilated, the eyes glassy. Dean turns away just long enough to wring out a rag, his heart aching.

"Used to do this for Sammy when he was little," Dean says to fill the silence. He moves the damp, cold rag to Cas's forehead and lays it carefully across. The angle is awkward because of how Cas is laying, more on his hair than his skin, but Cas shivers and relaxes gratefully.

"Tell me?" Cas asks. He's still staring at Dean and Dean feels pinned by his gaze. He clears his throat.

"Kid was healthy as a horse," Dean says. "Didn't get sick much, but when he did... he was the most miserable little kid." Dean chuckles a bit and grabs a second rag. He wrings it out and brings it to Cas's neck.

Cas shivers and closes his eyes briefly in relief. Dean watches for a moment, then catches himself staring and forces himself to keep talking.

"He always demanded tomato rice soup. Even when I could barely reach the stove I'd try to make it for him," Dean says. "Undercooked the rice the first few times I tried, but I got the hang of it eventually. Always had to be ready with ice chips or juice when his stomach could keep it down, had to tuck him in and read to him... though when he got a little older, he'd make me read his textbooks out to him so he could study even while he was sick."

"You love him very much," Cas observes. Dean startles, wondering briefly if Cas was making any leaps of logic connecting Dean's behavior to how much he cared about someone. If Cas was maybe making any (painfully true) assumptions about how Dean felt about him. 

"Yeah," Dean agrees quietly. "Yeah, I do." He coughs and looks away from Cas. "He's my brother."

Dean distracts himself with finding the TV remote and the TV Guide. Talking might not be the best distraction, but everyone loves cartoons when they're laid up. Cas is quiet, though Dean can still feel the former angel's eyes on him.

Dean hits 'power' on the remote and flips channels until he finds something suitable.

"Here," Dean says. "Loony Toons."

Cas looks over at the TV, then shifts carefully so he can see better. He holds the rag against his forehead as he sits up, moving it so it sits more evenly across his face. He ends up leaning against the headboard of his bed, knees drawn up and blanket pulled tight across his knees. Dean watches out of the corner of his eye, noticing the clench of Cas's teeth and the almost pained expression on his face. Dean can see a sheen of sweat on his neck.

"How you holding up?" Dean asks. Cas shakes his head.

"I'll be fine," he says. Dean nods and looks down. He's debating whether or not he should press for a serious answer when he hears a knock on the door.

"I got it," he says, rather unnecessarily as he's sure Cas isn't going to be getting up for anything as unimportant as the door. He checks the peephole, and sure enough, it's Sam, carrying a few bags from the local Walmart.

"How's he doing?" Sam asks quietly, almost guiltily when Dean opens the door. Dean shrugs and takes the bags.

"As well as can be expected, really," Dean says. He hefts the bags. "Geez, did you buy the whole store?"

Sam rolls his eyes.

"I got some canned soup too. There's a microwave in the lobby if you need it."

Dean smiles.

"Thanks," he says. The corner of Sam's mouth quirks up in a small smile.

"Don't mention it. I'll see you both in the morning."

And with that, it's just Dean and Cas again. Dean busies himself for a few minutes getting their groceries out of the bags. Sam really had gone all-out, considering this'll probably be over by tomorrow; there's two cans of tomato soup, a box of instant rice, the saltines Dean had asked for, plus granola bars that advertised 'high fiber' on the packaging. There were three bottles of Gatorade; one green, one blue, one red. Pedialyte too, plus little vitamin C packets and bottles of water.

Dean smiles and shakes his head.

"You hungry?" he asks Cas, waving the box of granola bars. Cas doesn't even look at him.

"No," he says, eyes fixed on the TV where Bugs Bunny is running circles around Yosemite Sam. Dean grabs a few granola bars anyway and a bottle of Gatorade. He sets them all on the bedside table, within easy reach of Cas should he change his mind, and opens one of the granola bars for himself.

Dean sits down on his bed, reclining with his back against the headboard. He shifts for a moment, getting comfortable.

The hunt had been a difficult one. The succubus had been very strong and while Dean wasn't hurt badly, he'd be feeling his bumps and bruises for a few days.

The cartoon ends with the traditional 'that's all, folks!' and Dean glances towards the other bed. Cas's eyelids are drooping, exhaustion lining his face. Dean wants to tell him it's ok to sleep it off, that maybe it would be easier, but he recognizes the stubborn cast to Cas's features.

The next cartoon starts. This one's a Daffy Duck one and Dean listens with half an ear while he surreptitiously keeps an eye on Cas.

It's not long before Cas's eyes slide shut. He opens them again right away, but within minutes they're closing again. His breathing slows and evens out.

Dean heaves a sigh of relief. With any luck, Cas can sleep through this whole ordeal. Dean will just need to stay awake and chase off any nightmares Cas may have.

He just has to stay awake, but his eyes are kinda dry and if he closes them for just a second that should be fine.

Just for a moment.

Dean's eyes slip shut.

* * *

 

Dean startles awake. At first, he's not sure what wakes him, but then he hears it; a low, whimpering moan and the sound of creaking springs.

He turns incredulous eyes to the other bed and sees Cas. He's kicked the blankets off, rolled over and, despite still being asleep, is rutting against the mattress.

Dean stares, shocked and uncertain what to do, when Cas makes another noise that's more a choked-off sob than a moan.

Dean likes to think of himself as something of a connisseur of pleasure. He's been in a lot of beds over the years, with a lot of different partners, and he knows how to make sure everyone has a good time. He knows what a good time sounds like, how to tell just from the sound of someone's voice how much they're into it.

And Cas? Cas is not making happy noises right now.

Dean scrambles to his feet on the heels of that thought, practically falling on top of Cas as he reaches for his shoulder.

"Cas," Dean says, shaking him. "Cas!"

Cas's shirt is soaked with sweat. He wakes with a gasp and flinches away from Dean's touch so hard he almost falls off the bed. Dean draws his hand back, watching numbly as Cas's fever-bright eyes try and fail to focus on him.

"Again?" Cas asks, voice cracking. He tries to cover it up with a smile, but it's strained and wobbly and doesn't come within a hundred miles of reaching his eyes.

Cas is terrified, soaked in sweat, and shaking. And he's asking 'again'. Dean wants to vomit.

"No," he says, voice high and strained. He coughs and shakes his head. "No. Cas, it's Dean. It's just Dean, not-" He shakes his head again, lost for words.

Cas's broken smile fades, the fragile veneer of earnestness in his expression cracking. He blinks and there's something lucid in his gaze now.

"Dean," Cas breathes, and the relief in his voice is palpable. " _Dean._ "

Cas inhales and the air rattles in his lungs. He inhales again and lets out a sharp, harsh sound. He inhales _again_  and chokes on it.

"I thought-" Cas says. His voice breaks. "I thought- I _thought_ -"

"I know," Dean says, because he does, and because he has no goddamn clue what else to say as Cas collapses onto the mattress and wheezes for air. His breathing comes in short, sharp little gasps, his eyes watering as reality asserts itself.

"Cas, Cas hey-" Dean says, frantic as he cups his hands around Cas's face. "Breathe, buddy, it's ok, you're safe, see, breathe just like me-" He takes a deep, exaggerated breath in, eyes locked on Cas's and is rewarded when Cas tries to imitate him. The former angel's breath hiccups on the inhale.

"Out," Dean says, letting the air leave his lungs audibly. Cas's exhale shudders. "Good, now in again."

Cas tries, but the air gets caught halfway to his lungs. He wheezes and tries again, but it's like his panic is feeding into itself. He's breathing in short, sharp gasps that do nothing to get him air.

"Cas, stay with me buddy, come on, _breathe_ -" Dean says again, making another exaggerated inhale. Cas opens his mouth, his hands scrambling for purchase on Dean's shoulders, but he's no more able to take a full breath than Dean is able to fly.

Dean curses.

"Come on," he says, hauling Cas up. Cas stumbles as he's pulled to his feet but goes willingly, one hand at his neck as though he can open his airway just by holding on. 

Dean leads him quickly to the bathroom and slams the light switch so he can see what he's doing. He blinks at the sudden brightness and Cas winces at the harsh flouresence. He's still shaking, Dean notices, his eyes glassy from fever and fear and his cheeks wet. His hair is plastered to his forehead nd his shirt is an entire shade darker than it was when he first put it on.

There's a slowly growing wet spot at the front of Cas's pants, but no accompanying smell of ammonia. The damp patch clings to Cas's skin, making it obvious he's still suffering the effects of the succubus venom.

Shit.

Dean hustles him into the shower, not bothering with their clothes. He turns the water on as cold as it will go and hopes.

The spray hits Cas full in the back and he gasps, but it's a welcome sound. Dean cups his face and catches Cas's eyes with his own.

"You with me?" Dean asks. Cas nods. His breathing is still shallower than Dean would like, but the sudden shock of the cold water is helping. "Good. Follow me, ok? Breathe in-" Dean makes an exaggerated inhale.

Cas imitates him, breath hitching, but he does it.

"Breathe out," Dean says. The air gusts from Cas's lungs, too quickly, but Dean just leads him through another breath. And another. Again.

Inhale by exhale, Dean leads Cas just like that through several more deep breaths, interspersing each with quiet encouragements and reminders that he's safe.

Bit by bit, Cas's breathing steadies and deepens. He's now thoroughly soaked by the shower, the fever in his blood momentarily calming at the chill. Dean's caught enough of the overspray that he'll need a change of clothes himself.

Still, he's loath to leave Cas if Cas still needs him, no matter how uncomfortable wet jeans are and how cold the water is.

"How are you feeling?" Dean asks. Cas swallows.

"I-" he says, voice hoarse. He clears his throat. "I..." He shakes his head, words having failed him. Dean nods.

"Okay," he says softly. He nods again. "Okay."

He understands.

For a moment, there's only the sound of the water falling around them. Then Cas shivers - from cold rather than fear - and Dean comes back to himself.

"I'll get you some dry clothes," Dean says. Cas nods, looking down as though ashamed. Dean tries to catch his eye again but Cas evades him. "You gonna be ok if I leave you here to get cleaned up?"

"Yes," Cas says, so quietly Dean almost doesn't hear him. He hesitates for a moment, then nods and reluctantly lets go of Cas.

"I'll be in the room. Shout if you need anything," Dean says. He waits for Cas's nod, then leaves the bathroom and shuts the door behind himself.

Only then does he stare down at his clothes and grimace. He makes his way to his duffle and strips himself quickly, tossing the wet clothing to the side and getting into his pajamas.

He realizes too late that he forgot to grab a towel, but the dampness is tolerable. He can deal.

He grabs Cas's duffle and heads back to the bathroom. Seeing the door still closed and hearing the shower running, Dean knocks.

"Got your stuff," he calls out. There's no response, but Dean can hear movement on the other side. He sighs, suddenly exhausted, and turns to lean back against the door.

There should be words, he thinks. The silence is grating enough on _him_  and has to be even worse for Cas.

There should be words. There _are_  words. They're just all stuck in his throat.

Dean coughs and stares at the faded wallpaper on the other side of the room.

"I used to wake up like that a lot," Dean says, forcing himself to say it loudly enough to be heard. "After Hell. Four or five nights a week, I'd wake up and I wouldn't know where I was. I'd think I was still down there."

Dean doesn't talk about Hell. He lived it. That was bad enough.

But for Cas... he can try.

"I'd wake up and could still taste blood in my mouth. I could _smell_ -" Dean cuts himself off and shakes his head. "I'd look for Alistair. I'd look down at my hands and wonder when I regrew my fingernails."

He'd wake up and look to see who was on his rack. His throat would hurt from laughing or screaming or some combination of the two. He'd wake up and expect to see the souls he'd tortured gathered around his bed to drag him back because they knew he didn't deserve to be out.

He'd gotten better, eventually. The night terrors had dropped off and the nightmares were much easier to bear in comparison. The panic attacks stopped coming so often.

Dean doesn't think he'll ever really be free of it. He knows he's just shoved the memories to the back of his mind and ignored them, not really dealt with any of it, but there are some things he'd take with him to his final rest. Some things he couldn't even think about, much less talk about.

It was Hell. He'd survived, and that was enough.

"It doesn't make you weak," Dean says finally. "It just means you made it through."

The shower runs for a few more minutes. Dean listens and when the water finally turns off, he heaves himself up away from the door.

"Your duffle is right outside the bathroom," Dean says. "Come out when you're ready. I'm not looking."

True to his word, Dean heads back across the room to his duffle and starts digging. He has an idea, since they've got a few more hours until Cas's body clears itself of the venom. TV was obviously not a good idea and he doesn't want to risk them both falling asleep again.

He hears the door open, the sound of cloth dragging against the floor, and then the door shuts again. 

Dean finally finds his old, battered copy of Cat's Cradle at the bottom of his bag. The pages are all dog-eared, a few of them wrinkled where he'd spilled water on it once. He turns it over in his hands, smiling fondly, and then he hears the bathroom door open slowly.

Dean looks up and sees Cas in the doorway. He looks a bit like a drowned kitten, hair all wet and plastered to his skin. He's got a towel around his shoulders and he'd changed into clean pajamas; thin grey pants and an old T-shirt Dean had given him a few months ago. He's shivering from the cold.

Dean motions to his own bed.

"Get in," he says. Cas's sheets are sweaty and wrecked. Dean, having fallen asleep on top of his blankets, hadn't even mussed the comforter.

Cas hesitates, looking first at his own bed, then at Dean's, and then at Dean himself.

"Where will you sleep?" Cas asks. His voice is rough but steady and Dean internally relaxes. He shakes his head and holds up his book.

"I'm not gonna. Remember how I told you I used to read to Sammy?"

Cas looks at him curiously.

"You're going to read to me?" he asks, sounding stunned. Dean nods.

"That's the plan. If you want me to," he says. He looks at the book for a moment. "Or I could just watch you- watch over you."

He colors a bit at the near slip. When he glances back up, Cas is watching him with a wry, exhausted smile.

"I've been reliably informed that that's 'creepy'," he says, scare quotes and all. Dean smiles back.

"Only if the person you're watching doesn't know you're doing it," he says. Cas nods and then looks down. He takes a deep breath.

"Thank you, Dean," he says. The words are heavy, more resonant than they should be, and Dean feels them as they come to rest on his shoulders. He nods again.

"Any time," he says, and he means for his response to be somewhat light-hearted and flippant, but it comes out equally weighty.

Cas shivers again and only then does he start moving. He climbs into Dean's bed with only a glance at Dean to make sure it was really ok. Dean has to resist the urge to tuck him in as Cas settles himself beneath the covers, curled up with only his head sticking out of the blankets.

Once Cas is comfortable, he looks up at Dean expectantly. Dean grins and settles himself on Cas's bed, angling himself to make the most of the table lamp on between their beds. He opens the book, clears his throat, and begins;

"The Day the World Ended. Call me Jonah. My parents did, or nearly did. They called me John..."

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to hit me up on tumblr!


End file.
